The Debutante and the Diadem
by Majestic Waters
Summary: HP7 Spoilers! The true story of Helena Ravenclaw and the Bloody Baron, aka Beedle the Bard. Helena is obsessed with him and his writing. The Baron covets the diadem. Can love prevail? A story of love, hate, and betrayal. Set during the 4 Founders Era. A/U
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Harry Potter universe, but I don't. I thank a slew of historical romances for inspiring some of the language used in this chapter, and in the subsequent chapters.

**The Debutante and the Diadem**

**Chapter 1: The Debutante**

_Dearest Hyacinth,_

_I am so delighted to hear that you are well, and that you have found all the happiness in the marriage state that any one person could possibly find. With the greatest respect and warmest friendship do I decline your offer to "fix me up" with Lord Duffington; just because your union has made you "mad with joy," it does not mean that everyone can find such pleasure in marriage, least of all me. I feel sorry for the man who marries me; he would try to rule me, like my mother, and for that I would probably have to kill him. _

_However, I fear that the day I must marry looms near; Mother has not given up on her idea of a coming-out ball at Hogwarts. Let us pray that she comes down with an incurable illness before the day. Oh, I know you are far too tender of heart to think anything so wicked. It is but a jest! (Really, I have no idea how toad spawn got into Mother's soup at Muffy's party last Tuesday….) There is no stopping an Ambitious Mamma from the sport of husband-hunting. For the world, I would not attach myself to one of those titled peacocks, so full of themselves and with all the insolence of imaginary superiority! _

_It is so lonely here without you. I will not beg you for a visit, but I will let you know that if you were to call on us at Hogwarts, the visit would not at all be thought unfavorable!_

_Your most dedicated and affectionate friend,_

_Helena _

Helena Ravenclaw hated being the only student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her best friend, Hyacinth Hufflepuff, (who usually joined her during the holidays) had escaped the confines of the magical institution, graduating the year previously with her Advanced N.E.W.T. diploma… and Helena missed her terribly. The days of the Hy-Ena book club, of midnight excursions to the restricted section of the library, of spurning boys, and of pranks on the professors (usually instigated by Helena) had come to an end. Now, at the beginning of summer break, she was completely alone with the exception of her mother, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Professors Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin whom all lived at the castle. She envied her friend; for Hyacinth was already happily married and was already promoting her first novel, Magic and Muggles: A Social Commentary_, _which was "simply brilliant" according to a review in last month's _Prophet. _Oh, how she _loathed _brilliant people. And speaking of her mother….

Helena had been idly perusing the shelves of the Hogwarts library, looking for something she hadn'tread, when she heard the distinctive sound of her mother's squawk. Of course, she was not exactly being fair; Rowena Ravenclaw would have had a rather pleasing voice if she weren't always making caustic remarks or being piercingly witty. Her mother was very beautiful, very intelligent, and _very_ sarcastic. Maybe it was because her sharp tongue was more than often wagging in her daughter's direction that, to Helena's ears, Rowena's voice held an underlying screech, like nails on a chalkboard.

"Helena, dear!" shrieked Rowena, upon rounding the corner of shelves Helena had unsuccessfully been using as a shield. "I've been searching for you for almost an hour! Have you been here all this time?" Before she could think of an appropriate response, her mother rushed on. "Of _course_ you have, dear. You've decided to be a writer. If you would like _my_ opinion, if you spent a little more time actually _experiencing_ life instead of just reading about it, you would have a bit more to write about, wouldn't you? Though extensive reading _will_ help the quality of the writing, (and I daresay, in _your_ case there is most definitely room for improvement), the content is just as important as the quality… don't you agree?"

Controlling her fury after her mother's standard snobbish and belittling criticism was not an easy feat; she managed to contort her lips into the ghost of a smile and was about to reply when her mother outdid her again. Helena thought that if she could only force her mother to stop talking for longer than a minute she could prove to her that she was not at all unintelligent. However, whenever her mother condescended to speak to her, it always took time for Helena to master her anger, and by the time she found something polite to say, the tiny window of silence would be filled once more by Rowena's unrelenting and patronizing chatter. It was a never-ending cycle that left Helena feeling drained and resentful and Rowena feeling smugly superior, if only a little worried that she had produced an heir that did not quite live up to the Ravenclaw standard of intelligence.

"Anyway, darling, I was looking for you because we need to discuss your coming-out party. I've already spoken with the other professors, and we've agreed that to host it in the Great Hall on the 21st of July would be ideal… unless you have anything else planned for that date?" She gazed coyly at her daughter through her long, dark eyelashes. Helena despised her mother for posing the question; of course, she had nothing planned—all of her friends were on holiday or else married, and the only people she had to interact with were her professors and a pesky poltergeist.

"Actually, mother, I was planning a trip into Hogsmeade that day, to see if I could unearth a birthday gift for Hyacinth," she replied sweetly. Rowena scowled at her daughter, and frown lines began to bridge the gap between her finely combed eyebrows.

"Don't be stupid, girl," she snapped, her handsome dark eyes flickering with irritation. "Hyacinth's birthday isn't until October! Now," she continued more pleasantly, removing a long scroll of parchment that she had kept tucked in a fold of her robes, and shoving it into her daughter's hands. "I have taken the liberty of preparing your guest list. Look it over, and tell me if there is anyone I neglected to invite. I plan on making the invitations tonight, so bring me the improved list by eight o' clock, in my office." With a beatific smile and a small wave, Rowena spun gracefully on her heel and glided out of sight. Helena was more than happy to see the back of her silky blue robes.

Sighing heavily, she turned back to the book shelf, noting dismally that she actually _had_ read all of the literature there was on Cheering Charms …. At least this time she had been able to get a few words in edgewise, (though, overall, it had been a fairly juvenile attempt). Any time she was able to manage this rare feat, not to mention aggravate her mother to the smallest degree, she felt that she should be congratulated. Helena was not at all looking forward to her coming-out ball, but it was necessary for every young witch of marriageable age and of her class to be introduced into society. At least that was what Rowena had impressed upon her daughter since she had turned fifteen. Two years later, Helena still wholeheartedly disliked the idea of becoming a debutante-- being bred like a pig only to be led out to the slaughter house that was marriage.

One would think that, a woman like her mother—Rowena being in such a powerful position, at the forefront of the educational renaissance that was revolutionizing the wizarding world—one would think that she wouldn't want her daughter to be constrained by the conventional ideals of marriage, that she would want Helena to become her own person, to be free to pursue any dream or desire she wished…. But it was not so. Rowena just wanted to marry her off to a powerful man, to deepen her own connections in society, or more accurately, she would want to marry Helena to a pile of galleons so that she would have a constant supply of money flowing into her beloved school.

She smiled bitterly, unraveling the scroll, and gazing dismally at the incredibly long list Rowena had thrust into her unwilling hands. It looked as if her mother had invited every title-bearing witch and wizard in the west…. At least she had had the decency to invite Hyacinth as well as a few other students from her year that she considered agreeable acquaintances. Her mother had done a good job of it, she conceded grudgingly, as her eyes slid down the list of names. She couldn't think of anyone else she should invite…. Her eyes widened abruptly in shock as they suddenly lit upon a name. No, it couldn't be! But it was….

_Baron Beedle the Bard. The _Beedle the Bard! Her mother was inviting the world renowned author of magical fairy tales; Helena had grown up reading and being inspired by his stories—she positively thrived on the legend of 'Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump.' Though he hadn't written anything in several years, "The Warlock's Hairy Heart" still burned in her mind with grim clarity. With the same clarity of mind, she turned purposefully to the shelf behind her and set to finding the original book of fairy tales she had stumbled upon when she was ten, hidden amongst the 'Magical Allegories' section of the library. After several minutes of searching, she had it; she immediately flipped the book open to the back cover… and was just as soon disappointed.

Usually there was a portrait of the author on the inside cover, and in this respect she was not dissatisfied. However, the quality of the portrait was poor, and the Beedle in the image kept moving into the shadows of the paint, as if he would rather have not had his portrait painted at all. All she could make out were a pair of very dark eyes in a sallow face and a very hawkish nose. Beaky nose or not, she felt a shiver of excitement race down her spine at the prospect of meeting the man. For once, her mother had done something right.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Next chapter: Enter the Baron. Read and Review!**

**P.S. A cookie to anyone who spotted the Jane Austen reference! ^_~**

_**~Majestic Waters**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Enter the Baron**

Baron Beedle the Bard was drunk, and had been since Monday. Today was Wednesday. The Baron was startled out of his inebriated slumber by a loud rapping upon his chamber door.

"Master Beedle!" shouted a female voice. "Master Beedle, you must wake up!"

Beedle groaned and opened his bleary eyes.

"Miss Spenser…" he slurred, "would you kindly quit that dreadful racket?"

"Please, Master Beedle--Sir William Card is here! He says he made an appointment with you last week… that you'd be expecting him?" Another groan escaped the Master. Of all the rotten luck… of all the idiots he had to drag himself out of his soft goose-down bed for when he still had double vision and a splitting headache.

"Yes, yes, Dorothy. Put him in the study. Tell him I'll be in to see him… momentarily." It took a great deal of effort for Beedle to disentangle his legs from the sheets and heave himself from his magnificent four poster bed. He put one hand to his temple, and slowly massaged the pain from his head until it became a dull throbbing behind his ears. He growled in frustration.

That fool Card couldn't have come at a worse time. Beedle had been out of it for two whole days, ever since his publisher had paid him a visit. Despite the huge amounts of alcohol he had imbibed in an attempt to forget the memory, Anthony Albright's scowling face entered his mind's eye with bitter clarity. The publisher from hell had stridden into his bed chamber Monday morning, ignoring Miss Spenser's outraged cries.

"_Lord Beedle,_" Albright had said, drawling out his name in that impressive and annoyingly derisive way that only he could truly pull off. Beedle had made a mad grab for his bed covers, drawing them up over his bare torso and to his chin; there was something fundamentally wrong about this man seeing any part of him naked. Albright had a way of looking at you that just made you _feel_ exposed. He was the type of man who wouldn't hesitate to exploit any sign of weakness, so the less of Beedle he saw the better.

"Albright…" Beedle acknowledged, stiffly.

"Forgive the intrusion; however I would not have had to force my way into your home, if _someone _had not decided to ignore my summons." Albright's nostrils flared in an uncanny imitation of an irate dragon. "Three years, Beedle…. It has been three whole years since you brought anything of worth into this company. But today, I am finally putting an end to your reign of idleness and stupidity." At least, Albright was nothing but to the point. The thin man stroked his graying mustache. "I hardly thought your last submission was worth its weight in doxy dung; that 'Hairy Heart' drivel was simply the raving of a love-less, bitter and angry drunkard." Albright advanced slowly towards the bed, leering over him, and Beedle willed his hands not to draw the sheets any higher. "Now, we've given you leeway because you're the most 'acclaimed' author we have." He smirked contemptuously, disdain lacing his every word. "However, now that _I_ am completely in control of the company, I have a tight ship to run, and any extra… _baggage_ must be thrown overboard."

Beedle had known, as soon as he had learned of the demise of Frederick Goodman-- a good friend as well as the co-owner of the publishing company he wrote for—that everything would go to hell with Albright wholly in charge.

"So I am giving you an ultimatum," Albright continued. A vein in his forehead stood out vividly against his ashen skin "You have one week to write something that I deem half-way decent, or you are finished."

Unease and confusion quickly gave way to incredulity and anger. "_What_? That's preposterous!" cried Beedle, forgetting himself and throwing off the covers so that he could glare at the man in an upright position. "How am I supposed to craft a story in one week?"

Albright laughed humorlessly. "It's been three years, Master Bard. Are you telling me you've written _nothing_ in three years?" Beedle could feel the heat creeping onto his face, staining his cheeks crimson. It wasn't as if he hadn't written _anything_ over the last three years—he just hadn't written anything _good_. Albright sneered. "In any case, I expect to see your efforts on my desk at nine o' clock on Monday morning."

"This is absurd!" he could feel his face becoming ruddy and hot. "I'm the best damned writer you've got!"

"_On the contrary_!" Albright whispered harshly, bringing his old, ugly face very close to Beedle's, trapping him in the bed, with his arms on either side of his torso. Beedle instinctively recoiled from the very intimacy of the position, which he wouldn't have minded so much if Albright had been a woman; but with _this_ man, it was simply disturbing, and Beedle felt extremely dirty as the older man's angry spittle burned his cheeks, as his putrid breath assaulted his nostrils….. "On the contrary," he repeated furiously, "you are nothing but a has-been! A thirty-something-year-old low-life scoundrel, whose 'talent' has all but dried up! You have become an embarrassment to the company, with your drunken exploits and womanizing splashed all over the papers, and frankly I am certain that no other company would pick you up once we dropped you! I cannot wait _sir,_" he spat, baring his crooked teeth in Beedle's face, "until the day you _fail_, so I can throw your sorry-excuse-for-an-_arse_ on the street!" Albright pushed violently from the bed, staggering to one side to lean heavily on the vanity. Presently, he stood with his back turned to Beedle, shoulders still heaving from the violence of his outburst.

After some moments, Albright spoke again, into the astonished silence. "You have one week, Beedle…. _One week_." Then he was gone, with a swish and flick of his black cape. Beedle collapsed back into his bed as he heard the front door slam downstairs, burying his face in his hands. This was it… his career was officially _over_. He needed a drink….

Two days of his one week were already lost due to his renewed dedication to drinking every last bottle of liquor in his very large storeroom, and Beedle could have bet that he would have spent the rest of the week in a drunken stupor if it hadn't been for Miss Spenser's insistence that he keep his appointments.

Beedle stumbled to his wardrobe, divesting himself of yesterday's clothes, and threw on a fresh set of dark wizarding robes over a white ruffled shirt and black trousers before tripping his way to the vanity. He certainly wasn't looking his best: there were sinister shadows haunting his blood-shot eyes; it looked like he hadn't combed his dark mane of hair or trimmed his scraggly-looking beard in days (which he hadn't). His prominent nose seemed to have grown since he last looked. Beedle had never been a handsome man, but surely he was striking—however, the past three years of steady drinking had taken their toll, and at present, he looked far older than his thirty-two years. He cast a few basic cosmetic charms to shave and tie back his hair, as well as a glamour charm to conceal the dark circles beneath his eyes—nothing could be done for the nose—before judging himself presentable for young Mister Card. _Or _Sir_ Card, _he reminded himself with a sarcastic little smile, _ever since he was knighted after saving the Muggle Queen's niece_. Elizabeth Peverell had nearly drowned the day of her graduation, and would surely have succumbed to Death if her fellow graduate, the brave knight, had not courageously come to her rescue and fished her out of the Hogwarts Lake.

Upon entering his study, the Baron was more than a little horrified to find that Sir Card had taken the liberty of kicking off his muddy riding boots onto the Persian rug and had ostentatiously spread himself out on the grand sofa. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back, so that his silky blond hair fanned across the pillow, and a steady stream of drool poured forth from his mouth—such was the state of his repose. Beedle took a moment to observe the young knight. Sir Card was anything but discrete. Everything from his fairy-blue ruffled coat down to his sapphire encrusted boots offended the Bard's more refined sensibilities. To put it simply, Card was a fop and a Hufflepuff to the core… and Beedle hated him. He cleared his throat loudly and startled, Card flipped over and off of the couch, landing with a distinctive thud.

Beedle glowered at the sputtering dandy on the floor. "Oh, bloody—think I broke my tail bone—!" Beedle cleared his throat again, and Card looked guiltily up at him through his eyelashes, his baby-blue eyes shimmering. "So sorry you had to witness that, dear boy." At least he had the decency to blush, but to Beedle, the man's delicately rosy complexion seemed… somehow affected. "Your pretty housekeeper informed me that you might be tad late, so I decided to put my feet up for a bit, and… well, I fell asleep."

"That is patently obvious." Sir William ignored the Baron's deadly stare.

"Yes, well, I didn't intend to," he continued, rising gracefully and dusting himself off in one smooth motion. "It's just that I was up all night writing, and the sofa was so very comfortable—"

"Please, Sir Card." The Baron said, extending a discouraging hand, placing the other at his temple, where the throbbing had returned. "Spare me. I have a tremendous headache, and I haven't the patience to deal with—" _your inane prattle "—_your enthusiasm, this morning."

"Been up drinking again, have you?" Beedle met the man's piercingly blue gaze with a quelling glare of his own. For all of his foolishness, Card was actually fairly intelligent… and had an annoying tendency to be insightful at the most inappropriate of times. "In any case, we made an appointment, and no matter how hung over you are, you are obligated to keep it, as per Doolittle's teacher-student code of conduct." The young blond had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at him, and Beedle felt his temper rising. Not for the first time, Beedle regretted taking the mentoring position at Doolittle's Academy of Writing for Wizards; if he hadn't been in such a fix for gold (he had long ago squandered his inheritance), he would never have lowered himself thus.

"May I remind you, that under the school's code I am also allowed to _fail_ you for your impertinence?"

Card scoffed. "You can't fail me for impertinence! Not that I _was _being impertinent…."

"On the contrary, I may fail any seditious student, unwilling to cede to my authority, at my discretion… which means I may do whatever I please." For the fist time in days, he was enjoying himself: a shadow of doubt had crossed the young knight's face, and for once, his handsome features were distorted by worry. The little rich boy, always used to being handed everything on a silver platter, finally feeling the weight of his insignificance! It was almost too precious. But the moment did not last: the cloud soon dissipated, and a sunny smile once more adorned his perfect face. _The wretch._

"Lord Beedle, how wicked your sense of humor is! Now, about my final project," Card leaned forward to seize a large yellow folder from the coffee table that had been largely ignored by Beedle until this juncture. Giving up his attempts at intimidation, Beedle sighed disconsolately, and lowered himself into a large, plush armchair. "You read a rough draft last week, and I have since modified it according to your specifications. But…" he hesitated, "it still feels like it's missing something." Beedle snorted.

"Like an ending?"

"I suppose…."

"You surprise me. Most writers have the ending settled, but have no idea how to reach their conclusion, while you… well, you are quite the opposite."

"Am I?" Beedle, easily irritated, growled impatiently.

"Well, how would you _like_ the story to end?"

"If I knew that, then—"

"Will it be comedy or tragedy?" Surprised, Card paused.

"Comedy."

"Does Athena return Sir Richard's feelings?"

"Yes."

"Does Richard conquer his desire for the Crown of Eternal Wisdom?" Another hesitation, then—

"Yes. I suppose he must."

"Then there's your ending! The knight realizes that wisdom cannot be gained and given effortlessly by an object, that true wisdom comes with age and experience. Therefore, after he slays Diego for his perfidy, Richard returns the diadem to Athena's mother, Athena forgives his betrayal and they both live happily ever!" Sir William gazed at him in awe, appearing deeply affected by his solution. For a full minute, he remained motionless and pensive—Beedle became worried that he had somehow _broken _the young man, until he spoke:

"Is it really as simple as all that...?" he murmured.

"Well, yes… I rather think so." Beedle made the mistake of catching the young man's eye. A very queer, shifty look passed between them, causing the hairs on the back of Beedle's neck to stand on end; for Beedle, horripilation was usually a portent of terrible things to come. It had happened right before his father died, right before his cat was eaten, right before his wife…. Unnerved, Beedle shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sir Card did not notice.

"I am going to tell you something," he began slowly, his azure eyes boring into his own black irises, "that requires your powers of discretion. Do you understand that what I am to tell you is imparted in the strictest of confidences? " Beedle swallowed involuntarily. He nodded. Card gazed at the older man, intently. "Alright then, Beedle; the truth of the matter is… _I _am Sir Richard…." The Baron's brows furrowed in confusion. _Is the boy mad?_ "At least," Card amended, "I've changed the names, but I am Richard all the same—and Helena Ravenclaw," he spoke the name softly, reverently, "is my lovely Goddess of Wisdom, my Athena!" Now, Beedle was extremely baffled. Had he just been privy to a confession of love?

"So…" said the Baron, attempting to recover from the shocking revelation, "everything in your novel--?"

"Has not yet come to pass," interrupted the mad knight. "But it will. I will steal Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, and with it win her lovely daughter's affections!" Beedle's headache was getting worse.

"Ravenclaw's diadem… you mean, the Crown of Eternal Wisdom? It exists?"

"Of course it exists," scoffed the peacock. "I'm not _that _creative!" Beedle had to admit, he had wondered about the inspiration of Card's story; though intelligent, Beedle had always known the young man to be somewhat… lacking in creativity.

"I still do not understand. Why are you telling me all of this? You cannot possibly think that stealing Ravenclaw's diadem will ingratiate yourself with the daughter. You can't expect all to work out like your fairy tale!" William eagerly leapt to his feet, pacing excitedly.

"Ah! But it _will_ work out, precisely as in my story! That's why I need _you._ You will be my Diego!" The Baron started, by this time, tremendously disturbed, not to mention very aggravated. He took a deep breath.

"Let me see if I've got this right," he began thunderously. "You want _me_ to play the villain in your little drama? The famous writer who seduces the young heroine, betrays the hero, steals the crown, only to be_ killed_ for his treachery?"

"Exactly!" laughed the knight. "Only I would, of course, step in before any seducing occurred, and I would_ never_ dream of killing you!" he paused. "Unless, of course, you _did_ decide to seduce her."

"This is preposterous!" spluttered Beedle, standing furiously. "What makes you think that I would ever--?"

"Ah, sir, but you forget the diadem! .... As well as a little problem you've been having with a certain Mr. Albright." The Baron paled.

"How did you--?"

"A little birdie told me… but that is beside the point. The point _is_ that without a story by Monday morning," he paused dramatically, grinning wickedly, "you'll be sacked. You will probably never work for another publishing house again!" he crowed, clapping his hands. The Baron snapped: Beedle lunged for him, preparing to ring his scrawny neck, but he tripped over the table which he had temporarily forgotten stood between them, and Card danced away and out of his reach. "Ho, now! I don't understand why you're trying to attack me, when I am merely trying to help you. Tut, tut!" He wagged his finger in the Baron's face, provocatively. Card saw the Baron tense in preparation for another attempt on his life, and he sobered at once, instinctively raising his hands in defense. "Ho! Listen, Beedle," he began, "the fact of the matter is this: you need help. You're a drunk. Ever since your wife—" Beedle glared fiercely at the foolish man, and William quickly rethought his next sentence, lest it be his last "The diadem can help you! You are still a brilliant writer-- all you need is a little help to get your life back on track." Against his better judgment, Beedle felt a tiny prickling of intrigue.

"What… what exactly does this diadem do?"

"It does exactly what my story tells you! Rowena's diadem bestows wisdom: it has the ability to remove all distraction from the thinker's immediate area, to induce an elevated frame of mind, and to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary. It's one of the most powerful magical objects in existence.... Very well protected too-- I hear Rowena keeps it hidden in a secret room in Hogwarts castle, warded by enchantments only she can break." _Where does he get his information?_ the Baron wondered absently. But that wasn't what he was truly thinking about. Could he seriously be considering this ludicrous scheme? _Yes._ It really was his last chance; his last chance to save his career; his last chance to regain his soul, after three long years of wandering alone in a dark pit of despair. Reluctantly, the Baron returned to his seat, and from the defeated downturn of his eyes, the knight knew he had finally won.

"Exactly, how do you propose we steal the thing before Monday?" For once, Card looked surprised.

"I thought you would have guessed!" In face of the Baron's blank stare, he continued. "For weeks, all of Europe has been buzzing about Helena Ravenclaw's," the dreamy, lovesick look was back, "coming-out ball. She has finally come of age, and is being presented into society as a lady in want of a husband-- which I intend to be. Really, Beedle, you should take more interest in high society. At least, check your invitations." Card looked pointedly at the desk in the corner of the study, which was overflowing with papers, and doubtless many unanswered invitations. "Everyone will be there… but most importantly of all, Rowena Ravenclaw will be there, _wearing the diadem!_" Skeptically, Beedle crossed to the desk, and upon investigation, saw that one scroll stood out among the rest-- it was glittering. As soon as he touched the seal of wax (formed in the likeness of the Hogwarts coat of arms), the scroll sprang into the air, unfurling and reforming again, in the shape of what could only have been an origami mouth. A woman's voice, at once alluring and authoritative, spoke:

"_Baron Costinius Beedle, the Bard,_

_Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff request the honour of your presence to present Helena Costanzia Ravenclaw into society on the 21st of July in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_No need to RSVP—we will assume you are coming!_

_Best wishes,_

_Rowena Ravenclaw"_

With a _crack_, the mouth folded in on itself, until it was once more a simple glittering scroll.

"Why—that's tomorrow night! Still…the invitation; it says nothing about the diadem."

Card looked at the Bard, patronizingly. "Apparently Rowena was trying to keep it an absolute secret… so naturally everyone knows about it! If Helena's beauty alone would not bring all Magic-folk to the party, I am certain the lure of the diadem will draw the remainder of them out. Rest assured, we will not be the only wizards trying to get our hands on the crown. The trick is, getting the damned thing off mummy's over-large head, without her noticing!"

Beedle could still not quite believe he was getting involved in such a hare-brained conspiracy. How could he be sure of the man's true intentions? If Beedle was to get the diadem and he was to help Card acquire the delightful person of Helena Ravenclaw, surely the youth could be trusted…. He sighed.

"I assume you have a plan?"

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter! Most of the information about the diadem comes from Xenophilius Lovegood. Can anyone tell me where I got, "It's a complete secret… so naturally everyone knows about it!"? I can't quite remember, but at least I know it isn't mine. ******** There might have been a Poe reference, early on. Coming soon, Chapter 3: The Debutante Ball. Read and Review!**

_**~Majestic Waters**_


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